


Blood Without Bone

by ghoulaesthetics (astraielle)



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy, Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-07 09:10:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12837939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astraielle/pseuds/ghoulaesthetics
Summary: Omega Station is not peaceful, but it does have its rules. How closely they're followed is subjective.The personal problem of Eroya Taen is the unlikely catalyst that brings to light a decades-old grudge between trained killers and all the old blood that comes with it. Yeela'faess Vas Moreh is just trying to enjoy the first year of her marriage peacefully on the Citadel, but an accidental discovery threatens all she holds dear. Artus Decnius has spent nearly twenty years running from his past, only now realizing that perhaps he isn't built for sprinting. And Zan? Zan'taamas Vas Qwib Qwib is just trying to make rent.It's funny how fate likes to weave her stories together.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> okay, here it is! the first chapter of a very large project i've been planning for quite some time! all the scatteres mass effect ocs i've been posting about on my blog--their stories all intersect here, for better or for worse. i'm EXTREMELY excited to be finally showing this off & i hope you come to love these characters just as much as i do <3

_ 2178 -- Omega Station _

 

* * *

 

Eroya Taen did not give the impression of a woman who cared to have her time wasted. Indeed, everything about the Drell said something about her near-obsessive need for order and punctuality. From the way she had her desk perfectly organized, to the way the floor-length dresses she wore on a daily basis were all perfectly pressed and ironed. 

Unfortunately, not everyone shared her need to have everything perfectly fabricated and followed to the letter. She had expected her contact on her doorstep fifteen minutes ago, being led into her office by her secretary five minutes ago, and seated in front of her less than two minutes ago. Technically, the tardiness was leaking over into her break--one of two ten minutes periods she allowed herself to have during the day, not counting the twenty she would take for lunch. As such, she wasn’t doing anything she’d classify as work, but she was too irritated to let herself relax. She sat ramrod straight in her chair, fingers drumming incessantly on the desk next to her keypad. Her monitor had gone into save-screen mode, replacing an unsent email with a screen full of animated stars. As far as she knew, there was a way to change that, but she never cared enough to sort out how.

Her eyes drifted around the room, skimming over the plain decor until they caught sight of the large bay window to the right of her. 

It was a decent view. She was sitting, essentially, in what would have been the penthouse bedroom suite for the twenty story building. Not a terrible sight to see, but it would have been much nicer if it had been any other city than Omega. Omega, the not-really-a-city, not-really-a-planet, trash filled station that she’d been calling home for almost half her life. Artificial orange and red light skimmed the tops of smaller structures, peeking through the thick clouds of smog that rose up from the cramped streets below. She could practically smell it through the sealed glass. 

A rapt knock on her door pulled her back from the idle trance. 

“Madam Taen?” The voice that came through the intercom was slightly distorted from the speakers, but Eroya recognized it as Revova, one of the two Asari she had sitting behind the main entrance desk. 

She placed a finger on a button as she spoke her reply. “What is it?” Short and to the point, with no pleasantries involved. She could see Revova flinching away from the speaker as she spoke into it, still unused to the harsh and quick ways Eroya spoke to her employees. 

“There’s a, ah, Salarian here to see you--he’s telling me he was your two o'clock. Should I send him up for you?” 

A small frown tugged at her features. Under normal circumstances, she’d tell Revova to send him away--that was the usual penalty for lateness. But, this was not a normal business meeting for her. Eroya Taen was facing a rather large pest problem, and needed it taken care of immediately. 

“Have Chatilak escort him up,” she decided. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust the Salarian, but having her Krogan head of security show herself off a little couldn’t hurt. No need to expose any vulnerabilities, after all. 

“Of course, Madam.” The intercom went dead as Revova scurried off to complete the task. 

In a few moments, Eroya would be meeting Yarol Jorix for the first time. Well, first time face to face, and whether or not that was his real name was up for debate. Assassins and mercenaries were a dime a dozen on Omega, with the station being home to the three most prominent groups in the system. Eroya could barely stand any of them, even if they did make up the majority of her clientele. Dirty, uncouth and brutal. It didn’t matter if they wore the Blue Suns emblem, the Blood Pack’s war paint or possessed Eclipse’s air of snobbish superiority. They were all the same to her. 

Jorix had a different reputation. For one thing, he worked on his own. In her mind, that already placed him at a more respectable level than the others. Oh, other mercenaries knew about him well enough--well enough to gripe about him during their visits to her brothel. Apparently, they simply could not decipher exactly how it was he carried out his jobs. Rarely were there any wounds on the body, and rare still was there a crime scene to clean up. A quick, suspect-less death. It was enough to pique her interest. 

Chatilak was one of the few people working for her that had the codes to get into her office, and let herself in with Jorix following closely behind. 

She straightened behind her desk and looked past the Krogan, directly into Jorix’s eyes. “A quarter of a standard hour late,” she said, pointedly arching a brow ridge at him. “Not what I would call a fantastic start to this relationship.” 

“I was held up,” he said simply, not waiting for an invitation into the room as he strode in and seated himself in the chair Eroya had set up in front of her desk. “And if you’re anything like the rumours describe, this meeting won’t be taking long.”

“Oh?” She asked, inclining her head slightly. “And what might they say about me, Mister Jorix? What have you heard through the grapevine?” 

“Nothing you aren’t already aware of, I’m sure.” He glanced over his shoulder at Chatilak, who’d kept her position silently by the doorway.  “Taen, I’m familiar with the need for security, but I only do my contracts in front of the people who actually plan on signing them--and you’re in no danger with me in the room right now. I can promise you that no one’s hired me to put a price on your head.” 

“Not yet they haven’t, I’m sure.” She looked back at her security guard and nodded. “You may leave the room and close the door behind you. But stay on the floor near the elevator--you’ll be escorting Mister Jorix back down once we’re finished.”

She looked at the back of his head distastefully before backing down. For all the differences in their power, she knew better than to try and disobey a direct request. “If you’re sure, Madam. I’ll be just outside--and you,” she directed at Yarol, “watch yourself.” With the last threat made, she left the office. The door sealed shut behind her, and they were alone. 

“Quite the charmer you’ve got there,” he commented dryly. “I much preferred the Asari that greeted me.” 

She fought the urge to roll her eyes at him. She considered it highly unprofessional. “I’m sure. And yet somehow I’m also certain that Chatilak’s shotguns would be less of an ordeal than biotics.” She paused to take a sip of the glass of water she habitually kept on her desk. “But you didn’t come here to discuss my staff.”

“True enough,” he agreed. “We came together to discuss a death--well, a future one at the very least.” Elegantly, he crossed his legs and leaned back in the chair, giving the air of someone that had done this many, many times before. He even looked somewhat bored, which she found funny, all things considered. But even the daily life events of an assassin would eventually become commonplace, she supposed. Just as hers had. Everything, no matter how seemingly extraordinary on the surface, eventually fell into a predictable rhythm. 

“Exactly. I did not hire you for idle conversation,” she said sharply, drawing herself back to the task at hand. “To be blunt about it, there’s a woman who needs to die--the sooner, the better. My security staff has already put a stop to several attempts of hers on my life, but it’s getting excessive.” She folded her hands on the table and leaned forward slightly, tone even as if she were discussing the weather. “It’s getting on my nerves, Mister Jorix. And it’s making my girls uncomfortable--they rely on me for protection, and what kind of message is it sending if I can barely protect myself?” She pulled up a picture on her holoscreen, a pretty, violet-coloured Asari appearing instantly. “Unira T’goro--and to answer a question I’m sure you’re wanting to ask, this has been going on for years, since I took over the business.”

“Actually, I really wasn’t wanting to ask,” he said flatly, studying the picture. “Though I suppose it makes sense. You’d be surprised how many enterprising individuals have blood on their hands. It’s twice as bad on this station--let me guess, she’s bitter because you bought her out, because she felt entitled to the deed, maybe she’d been involved with it longer than you and assumed she’d inherit something for her troubles. And then you showed up, and because of natural competence, or charm, or looks, or whatever it was that made you just a little more appealing in your former boss’s eyes, you got your foot in the door first? Am I close?” 

She blinked a few times at him, eyes losing their hard glare. “That’s--that’s exactly it,” she said with mild surprise registering in her voice. “Were you aware of the situation before I contacted you..?” 

He shrugged off her expression. “No. But it’s a predictable story. I’ve heard it enough times. Replace this whorehouse with any other small business on Omega, replace Unira with a Turian, a Human, a Volus--it doesn’t matter. People don’t change, and neither do their reasons for hiring someone to do their dirty work. My business hasn’t slowed down since I left Sur’kesh, and it’s thanks to people like you.” He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes slightly at her, as if only now registering what she looked like. “Though I’m surprised a Drell wouldn’t be comfortable enough to handle something like this herself--I always assumed your people were built for it.” 

She stiffened, and the steely look in her eyes settled back in. “Despite what the reputation tells you, that’s a very small percentage of us. _ Some _ of us prefer to make an honest living.” 

He scoffed at the notion. “Honest. Right. As if the both of us aren’t steeped deep in illegal dealings on a daily basis--you couldn’t be honest if you tried, Taen. No shame in that, mind you. But you couldn’t.”

“Bold words from a hired gun,” she smiled sweetly. 

“At least I’m self-aware.”

She bristled at that. “Upholding a sense of decorum is not the same thing as being unaware.” Sensing that Yarol would quickly cause her temper to trip if she let him, she quickly steered the conversation back to the real matter at hand. “To the point, though--as per your agreement, I’ve just transferred the first half of the fees into your accounts. It should be approved within the hour.” She tapped three buttons on her screen, before it made the noise to indicate the transfer had gone through. “While there is no real time limit on this, I’d very much like to have proof of death within the week--the sooner, the better, and I’m sure you’ve heard this before, but I can make it very worth your while to be efficient. Money is  no object in this case.” 

“You seem desperate,” he remarked thoughtfully.

“And you seem awfully keen on insulting clients,” she said, voice dripping with acid. “Not desperate, Mister Jorix--at this point, I am quite frankly, pissed off. It’s only a matter of time before she starts smartening up and hiring someone to act on her behalf. I am familiar enough with sidearms, but as I’m sure you can tell, I’m not equipped to deal with anything beyond that. And Chatilak… She’s strong enough. Intimidating. But I’ve no doubt someone with the intent to truly kill me would be able to bypass her.” She sighed deeply and shook her head. “Good help is very hard to find these days, you know.”  

“So I’ve heard,” he agreed, watching his omni-tool until the message of ‘received funds’ flashed on it. “So, aside from what you’ve shown me--what else should I be aware of for this Unira woman?” 

Her brow furrowed slightly. “I thought you’d have done your research on this.”

“I  _ am.  _ Right now, from you. You want this expedited, you’re going to have to work with me. Use that famed memory of yours. Give me what I need, and I promise you’ll be smiling in a few days. If that’s something you’re physically capable of, anyway.” He didn’t appear to be intentionally condescending, but he spoke with the air of assumption that everyone was somehow magically on the same page as he was. And she wasn’t stupid, but she wasn’t in his head either. 

She wanted this job done. She could berate him later, when the contract was up. 

“As far as I’m aware, Unira works the private rooms at Afterlife—she’s been blacklisted from just about everywhere else for…  _ behaviour  _ issues, but I hear that T’loak’s people can keep her in line during her work hours.” 

“And outside of it?” 

She shrugged delicately, eyes wandering away from Yarol’s face and to the ring she wore on her left index finger. It caught the light rather pleasingly. “I’m not entirely sure. I can’t imagine she would spend time in any particularly savoury areas.” 

“This entire station is a hole,” he pointed out, and her lips tugged into a small rueful smile. 

“You’re certainly right there. But I really don’t know. The lower levels, most likely. It would make the most sense.” 

“Any distinctive markings?”

“You can’t look at the files I forwarded you for yourself?”

“Only gauging your level of cooperation, Taen.” He replied smoothly. 

“I will be  _ cooperative _ as long as the questions are not stupid ones. You’ll find resistance when it comes to things you can piece together for yourself.” She leaned forward, staring him down intently. “You say you’re the best at what you do, Jorix—your reputation does, anyway. So live up to it.” Leaning back, she turned back to her screen, ignoring the bemused look he sent her way. “Live up to it, and you’ll gain yourself a loyal customer. I’ve got no shortage of names that come across my desk that I’d prefer never to see again.”

“Is this a test?” He chuckled. “Funny Time to administer something like that. Usually the testing comes before your second decade behind the scope.” 

“That better not be how you plan on carrying this out,” she warned, glancing up at him. “I paid the price for the more natural methods. A hole in the head would send a message, but not the one I want.”

“I’ve met your type before,” he nodded sagely. “Control through paranoia—elegant, I’ll give you that. Cleaner, too. You’ll get what you put the price in for.” He uncrossed his legs and leaned in, resting his elbows on his thighs. She could see him looking at her through the translucent screens. “You paid for me to deliver—and I’ve never had to void a contract in my life. Speaking of which,” he said, reaching into a bag attached to his hip and pulling out a datapad. “I’ll need you to approve the contract. Less for legal reasons, more for my own records,” he shrugged. 

As he reached down, her fingers reflexively twitched in the direction of the sidearm she kept hidden under the desk. Could she outshoot him? Probably not, but she wasn’t about to die without trying. 

She took the datapad from his outstretched grasp, being careful to avoid skin to skin contact. “Done,” she replied neatly as she slid it back across the table. “And as I said, no true time limit for this, but I would deeply prefer sooner rather than later.”

“I’m familiar with mitigating risks, Taen,” he said as he stood to his full height. “She’ll be dead in the week. I’d say look for the obituary, but…”

She nodded once, understanding. No one bothered to write those up on Omega. “Your evidence will suffice.”

“I assume by that you just want a photo and not a head on a pike brought back.”

She wrinkled her nose in disgust, unable to glean if he was joking or not. Though Salarians were, in theory, capable of more facial expression than say, Turians, she found the ones she encountered to be far too slippery and self-serving to trust anything on their faces. “If you bring me any dismembered body parts of Unira’s I will personally dismember  _ you  _ myself.” 

He ‘tsk-ed’ dismissively. “A joke, Taen. I suspect you wouldn’t be familiar with those.” 

She exhaled sharply, saying nothing to him and instead pressing the intercom button once more. “Chatilak. Come retrieve Mister Jorix for me. Ensure he finds the door swiftly.” Looking back up at him with a cool expression, knowing he’d be out of her sight within seconds, she made her goodbye. “It was hardly a pleasure dealing with you from the start, Mister Jorix. And yet, I still trust you to deliver on your promised product--and I look forward to the results.”

“Likewise, Taen,” he nodded as Chatilak re-entered the room to escort him out. “We’ll be seeing each other again sooner than you’d think, I believe.” 

She counted their steps as they left the room, only letting go of the breath she’d been holding in when she was sure they’d made it to the elevator. That was an ordeal, and more than she’d bargained for. Granted, he was by far one of the more pleasant assassins she’d dealt with--although that might have had something to do with the fact that he wasn’t trying to use her services without payment, and she wasn’t standing behind two very large, very threatening Krogan women. 

With Jorix and Chatilak gone, she sat back in her chair, forcing herself to relax tensed up back muscles she’d been holding too stiffly for the past three hours. The desk intercom was switched onto ‘do not disturb’ and would remain that way for the next fifteen minutes--her daily schedule was already shot to hell, and there was no way she’d be getting out of this office at her usual time anyway. For a change, she didn’t see what difference it could make if she took a few precious minutes for herself. 

Elbows on the desk, she leaned heavily forward into her hands, bundled fingers pressed into each of her temples. She knew that she was no doubt going to replay this scene in her head later, pay attention to more details-- _ his eyes keep scanning the room, scanning her, perhaps looking for points of weakness. A faint smell of smoke clings to his clothes but not his skin, smoker perhaps? Or spends time around them? The artificial sun is casting too many odd shadows and reflections in his eyes for me to tell what he’s thinking.  _

Grimacing, she pulled herself out of the instant memory. It was far too early to be revisiting the scene like that just yet. She would get her ten minutes of peace even if it killed her. She’d gotten done the most vital thing she needed to do today--everything else could wait.

Wryly, she raised her head ever so slightly to look out the window once more. If she squinted hard enough, the false orange light was almost a passable sun. 

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oho and we're back! this time with two new kids, differnt time, same hellhole of a station. enjoy & let me know your thoughts!

_2167 -- Omega Station_

 

* * *

 

 

Athena Ryder did not fear any of Omega Station’s many dark corners. Nor did she really have to. At six foot even, with the hard physique of someone who’d done their time in prison and a steely glare permanently fixed in her eye, most of the station’s scum was more than happy to give her a wide berth as she strode into the bar. The submachine gun she brandished on her hip helped the image.

It couldn’t really be called a bar--it was really more of a counter that had been conveniently tucked away in a corner with as many tables crammed around it as the owner possibly could. But it would do for now. Judging by the layers of grease and grime every surface seemed to carry, the prices in here were probably all she could afford. She hadn’t planned on leaving Cerberus like she did, and she was beginning to regret not double-checking how many credits she had on her before hopping off the base. 

_ Well, no time to dwell on that now, _ she thought blithely as she grabbed the last available table in the vicinity. She practically collapsed into the chair, feeling the dregs of travel-induced exhaustion settle in her limbs. Around her, she could see no other humans seated at any tables. Batarians and Vorcha mostly, likely from the local merc groups. There were a few scattered Turians and Asari with a few Krogan in the mix, but she was most definitely the only human in the room. It never bothered her before, and it still didn’t now, but ever since Cerberus she’s been made pointedly aware of her humanity just as they’d wanted her to be. 

Leaning back, she drummed her blunt nails on the table surface, considering what she needed to do next. At some point before she left, she’d attempt to secure a meal. That much was obvious. Reaching forward, she grabbed a few cocktail napkins from the pile left on the table, and pulled a pen out of one of her pants pockets.  _ Step one, _ she thought as she began to write,  _ place to stay _ . It was the first logical step in re-establishing herself. After all, if Athena were to really get into it, she was technically homeless. She frowned at the truth of the statement, and then immediately regretted the action, wincing in pain. The deep gashes on her face were still fresh, less than a week old, and the stitches tugged painfully whenever she did more than blink.

She started to write out a list of her marketable skills--she could fire a gun, and so far, that was about all she had.  _ Freelance merc is it _ , she thought dryly with a click of her tongue. It wasn’t ideal, but she could work it, especially on this station. There was always someone that needed killing on Omega. 

Before she could write down her second bullet point, a particularly loud clamour behind her broke her focus. A table near the back corner had decided it would be a good time to start shouting at each other over the din of the other patrons, drawing all eyes and ears towards them. She watched them over her shoulder as best she could out of the corner of her eye, this time more mindful of the fresh stitches in her movements. Three Batarians, one Krogan, and a Turian had crowded around the table, which in of itself was not unusual, but the Turian seemed to be set somewhat apart from the rest of them. Mercenaries, no doubt--what else could they possibly be? Blue Suns, if the colour of their armour was any indication. Except for the Turian, she noted as his companions seemed to gesture for him to rise from the table. Unlike the rest, he was dressed in dark grey and browns, with minimal outer protection. Definitely not someone who looked like much of a fighter, she decided, despite the fact that once he straightened to his full height he must have stood somewhere near eight feet. Impressive and intimidating, even by Turian standards. 

She turned back to her napkin, putting the loud group from her mind and scowling as she realized that she’d have to come up with something that set her apart if she ever hoped to attract any work. And putting her Cerberus credentials on the list was absolutely out of the question, if she valued her life in any way. She tapped her nails even more intensely, the noises of the bar fading into a distant hum in the back of her mind. 

The bar was so far in the back of her mind, in fact, that she barely even glanced up when a scuffle broke out at the next table over. The harsh, shrieking laugh of a Vorcha was immediately followed by the enraged roar of a Krogan. Whatever it had done, it had obviously pissed off the significantly larger and more dinosaur-like alien. Without pausing, the Krogan lunged forward and punched the Vorcha, hard. It sent him flying in Athena’s direction, and instinctively she jumped back and out of her chair to avoid the projectile. He crashed into her table, sending her cocktail napkin and pen flying. 

While her reflexes had been honed to get her out of danger’s way, they hadn’t quite reached the point of predicting the unpredictable yet. She’d successfully dodged the flying Vorcha, but by doing so had launched herself back into the large Turian she’d spotted just moments ago. Apparently, he’d been sent forward to grab a tray of drinks for his table. She was keenly aware of the fact that at least one of them smelled like artificial strawberry, because it was dripping down her hair and soaking into her fatigues. 

Resetting her footing and trying to look intimidating despite her obvious attempts to not slip in the spilt drink, she spun around to face him, glaring hard and not caring about the stinging her in face. It probably had less to do with her expression and more to do with the alcohol, anyway. 

He blinked at her once, twice, three times, seemingly just as startled as she was, but significantly less angry. 

“What the _fuck_ was that?” She spat, curling her fist into the soft material of his scarf and yanking his head down to her level. Broken glass crunched under her foot as she dragged him forward into her space.  
The empty tray he was holding clattered to the floor, maybe in surprise, maybe from the violence of her movement, she wasn’t sure. He raised a brow plate at her, mandibles twitching slightly to indicate… she wasn’t really sure. His kind was ridiculously hard to read and as far as she was concerned, mostly expressionless. She couldn’t be expected to memorize every mandible movement or subvocal tone. 

“I should be asking you the same thing,” he replied equally as harshly, apparently irritated. Reaching up, his three-fingered hand plucked her fingers off of the scarf one by one, maintaining an iron-solid grip on her wrist to prevent her from doing it again. Free of her grasp, he straightened to his full height, looking down at her with what she could only assume was a sneer. From the downward angle, she couldn’t even see the tips of his crest anymore, and the realization that she was, for a change, the smaller one in a confrontation was disconcerting. 

“After all,” he said, subvocals ringing hard in her ears, “If you didn’t feel the need to move like some uncontrolled Varren whelp, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.” 

“Oh,  _ fuck _ you,” she hissed, trying to yank her arm back and swearing again once she realized that he wasn’t letting go. “Fuck you, you goddamned  _ Bird _ ,” she snapped, finally pulling her limb out of his grasp with a particularly hard jerk. “You have no idea the shit I’ve been through this last week. And you know what? I’m feeling vindicated enough--you owe me,” she decided, getting up into his face as best she could. 

He laughed at that. “Is that right, human? And, uh, what exactly is it that I owe you? Far as I can tell you just need a shower and a new shirt--don’t tell me you can’t swing at least that much.” He stared down at her with the cool indifference of a man who couldn’t even bother himself to care. At best, she was a petty irritation to him, barely even something worth acknowledging. “And you want to talk about some shit--I’d love to sit you down and tell you about my  _ year _ , but I doubt you have the capacity to keep up.” He dropped his face low to her ear, a clawed hand on her shoulder. “If you’ll excuse me--I’ve got a job to discuss with my--” He paused, glancing back at that table where his companions were clearly getting impatient, watching them both with hawk-like vigilance. “--my contacts. And you’re interrupting. Which is rude, but with your kind, that’s not really a surprise. Enjoy the rest of your day, if you’re even capable of that much.” 

There was one last flicker of his mandibles when he pulled back, and a showing of sharp teeth through his narrow mouth that she could only read as a smirk. 

It was positively  _ infuriating. _

“I guess it would look pretty bad then,” she said as she crossed her arms over her chest, “If I started some shit with you right here, right now? I mean, if you’ve already got people out her gunning to beat the absolute shit out of you--that’s bad for a new merc, no?”

“How did you--” He sputtered, whipping his head back to the table and then towards her once more.

She rolled her eyes, a sure smirk tugging at her lips. “Please. It’s obvious. You’re new, you’re dumb, you’re inexperienced. The drinks were either buttering-up or just something they’d send a new hire to do--my money’s on the first. You need to impress them somehow--and getting shot by a human woman in the middle of a bar because  _ you _ couldn’t keep  _ their  _ drinks steady enough not to spill them on her? Less than impressive.” To punctuate the last bit, she brought her hand down to her thigh, patting in the holster. “But, hey,” she said, smiling at the truth of her words hit him. “You do what you’ve gotta do, right? So will I.” 

He grumbled something her translator didn’t pick up, subvocals low and growling. Whatever it was, it definitely wasn’t a happy noise. 

Maybe threatening to shoot over spilt drinks was overkill. Most of the time she’d be inclined to agree. But she was tired, sore, and could now add ‘sticky’ and ‘foul smelling’ to the list. This was really just the icing on the cake. 

He sighed deeply, rubbing the sides of his blunt nose. “And what, exactly, is it you want me to give you?” 

She tilted her head, thinking for a moment. “You got a shower?” 

“I live here,” he said, confused. “I’ve… Yeah, I’ve got that.”

“You’re going to let me use that,” she said with finality. And before he could open his mouth, she continued. “And you’re going to replace when I’m wearing. With your own credits.”

“This is extortion,” he said, glaring. 

“I’m just asking for two very simple things here,” she said innocently. “And if push comes to shove--you’re a big Bird, but I’ve still got the gun.” 

He narrowed his eyes at her, small end blue, surrounded by two circles of soft beige skin and the pale, hard bits of his facial plating. “I hope you realize that the fact I left my arms at the table is the only reason you’re still standing for even making that threat.”

She shrugged, nonchalant. “That’s the reality of it. Anyway, easy enough deal--buy my silence for just a few small things.”

He sighed again, once more looking back at the table. They were getting impatient, motioning for his speedy return. “Wait here,” he finally said. “Or grab a table somewhere else--I don’t care. I won’t be done for at least another half hour. Add onto that some more time for new drinks.” 

She shrugged again, picking up her knocked over chair from the floor. She plunked herself down on it, sitting backwards and facing the direction of his destination. “I can wait,” she said with a smug look. “It’s been almost two weeks since I’ve felt hot water--I can wait, Bird.”

“Artus,” he corrected sharply before he turned around. “Artus Decnius. You’re going to use my facilities, you’re going to stop calling me Bird.”

“Well damn, okay,” she grinned. “Okay, Artus Decnius.” 

He looked at her expectantly. “And you would be…?”

“It’s a secret surprise for later,” she said, practically sneering. She wasn’t going to give herself away so easily. 

“Whatever,” he said with a huff. 

She watched him walk back to the group, no doubt to explain what the hell all of that just was--not that she even knew. It wasn’t every day that she demanded hospitality from strange aliens, nor was it every day they agreed to it.But nothing about this situation was normal, even for her. 

And so she sat, waiting for Artus to collect her, smelling like strawberry liquor and questioning a very large portion of her life choices.

 

* * *

 

 

Three hours later she was stepping out of the shower stall in Artus’s small apartment. His estimate of how long he’d take was slightly off, and she wound up waiting for longer than she’d have liked, but the feeling of soap and hot water sliding down her skin made it all worth it. 

The place itself was slightly less run-down than the bar had been, but it was still very much situated in one of the more slum-like neighbourhoods.  _ Better than nothing _ , she figured. Certainly more appealing than the idea of spending the night on the street somewhere. 

She wrapped the sole towel in the bathroom around herself. Turians didn’t have hair, and with a slightly irritated sigh, she realized she’d have to drip-dry it instead of towelling it off as she would have preferred. In the cracked mirror above the sink, she caught her reflection out of the corner of her eye. 

She was bitterly aware of the way her face would be scarring over, if the puckered skin of old shot wounds and deep, angry red marks leftover from years-old injuries were any indication. She did not scar well, or prettily like some people did. If the new line hadn’t run through the middle of her face, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. The one on her cheekbone and the one through the side of her mouth didn’t bother her as much--hell, those even looked kind of  _ cool _ . But the long one, the most prominent, the cut that started near the middle of her forehead, went between her eyebrows and took off a chunk of the bridge of her nose before stopping just where her right cheekbone started-- _ that _ one was going to bother her, and no amount of medigel would ever knit the skin back to the way it was before. 

Small explosions were common enough on the field, and shrapnel was a cruel side effect of them. A small part of her felt ungrateful--the universe had spared her sight, after all, and her nose still held its shape despite the new dent. But it would forever be a reminder of her own stupidity and lack of awareness. She had to force herself to turn away from the mirror and leave the bathroom. 

In the next room, Artus had pulled out a pair of too-small folding chairs, clearly meant for humans, and positioned them near the window. On the bed, the only piece of ‘real’ furniture in the room, he’d left a pile of neatly folded clothes. From what she could see, it looked like it might have been a jumpsuit of some sort. 

“I can’t believe you actually went out and grabbed me these,” she said, snorting out a small laugh as she picked it up to unfold it. “Shit, it might even fit me too. That’d be a first.” 

“Yeah, I gathered that you’re not exactly small for a human,” he replied as he sat in one of the chairs, fitting as much of his mass on as possible. “Stock was limited. I did my best.” 

She looked at him and then back to the clothes. “It’ll do.” And then, remembering her manners and the fact that technically, she did threaten him in order to get these, she quickly added a barely audible “Thank you.” 

To that, he merely nodded. “Yeah, well, the only reason that even worked out is that the meeting went well. Otherwise, I would’ve been happy to throw down with you in the street afterwards.” 

She swore she could hear the hint of a smile in his tone, which she knew was impossible given that his facial structure wouldn’t allow it. But still, already they’d begun to relax more around each other--Athena had turned immediately agreeable as soon as they stepped through his door, and after getting over his initial moment of surprise, he adjusted accordingly. 

“I doubt anyone would have stopped it anyway,” she said as she started to unzip the article. Jumpsuit, as she’d correctly guessed, with a small pair of shorts and a tank top to go under. It looked like something a scavenger might wear, she decided. Practical, firstly, but comfortable and durable too. It’d go well with the boots she owned. “Not like a street shootout is exactly uncommon around here.” 

“Not exactly,” he agreed, only half-paying attention to what she was doing. His head snapped up at the sound of heavy fabric hitting the floor. 

Without thinking, she’d dropped her towel to get changed. It wasn’t meant to be seductive; she really was just used to getting dressed and undressed in locker rooms at this point. ‘Nude’ was simply another state to be in. 

Artus disagreed, evidently. Shielding his eyes with a clawed hand, he whipped his head around as fast as he could, staring anywhere but at the naked human in his apartment. “That is--could you--do you  _ mind _ ?” He finally got out in a burst.

“Do I m--oh, that. What, you’ve never seen a human in all their fleshy glory before?” She teased as she wiggled into the underclothes. 

“No,” he said forcefully. “You’re very… pink. And squishy looking. It’s extremely unsettling,” he said, still refusing to look in her direction. “No fringe, no carapace. It’s a damn miracle that your species has somehow managed to be as tough as it is. Spirits, a  _ Salarian _ could probably shred you to bits.”

“Watch it,” she warned, pulling the jumpsuit up her legs. Instead of zipping it all the way up, she used the arms to tie the top half around her waist. The one-room living space was still warm from the shower steam. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’d have to shred pretty deep to do any real damage.” Her voice dripped with annoyance as she gestured to her face. “Soft, but we bounce back. Unlike you. Pry off that chest plate of yours and that’s it, you’re dead.” Taking a seat on his bed, she folded her legs up under herself. “I’m done now, by the way. You can stop being dramatic.” 

He relaxed slightly, no longer straining his neck from twisting it nearly one hundred and eighty degrees. Artus glared at her once more as he noted how she’d foregone the chair he pulled out for her completely. 

An uncomfortable silence settled over the pair. Her eyes wandered past his head, out towards the dirty window that overlooked the street below. It was floor to ceiling and took up the entire back wall, making the room seem larger than it was. They weren’t too high, five stories at most, but it was enough to be considered a ‘view’. 

“You still haven’t given me your name,” he said suddenly, and her gaze snapped back towards him. His mandibles moved in interest, a curious look in his smallish eyes. 

She leaned back on the bed slightly, resting on her palms. “Athena,” she said simply. "Athena Ryder." It didn’t really matter at this point anyway whether she kept it to herself or not. And he’d just seen her naked as the day she was born--it would have been almost comically sad to leave him without a name after that. 

He snickered slightly at her answer, and she scowled. “What’s so funny?” She asked with a touch of indignation. 

“Nothing. It just sounds passably Turian, that’s all.” 

“You wish,” she scoffed. “Bet it would have made seeing my ass less weird.” 

“Doubtful,” he said flatly. “As far as I know people don’t usually take it on themselves to start stripping down in stranger’s homes. Speaking of which, you left your other clothes in my sink. I’m assuming you’ll be wanting those back for a wash. Or not, seeing as everything in there is branded with the Cerberus logo.” His voice hardened near the end, and he leaned more towards her, scrutinizing. “Kind of convenient that you left that piece of information out, Athena.” 

Internally, she winced. “I’m not with them anymore,” she said, matching his stare. “I quit. Deserted. Jumped ship. Whatever you want to call it.”

“Funny how you say that. I should have known by the tenth time you called me ‘Bird’ back at the bar that you’d be the type to join a pro-human hate group. What are you even doing here? Omega might be lawless, but don’t tell me you haven’t heard how humans like you get treated here.” His subvocals hummed with anger, barely contained and boiling below the surface. Even she could tell that much.

“I told you,” she snapped, sitting upright suddenly, “I’m not  _ with _ them anymore. I didn’t agree with half the shit I saw when I worked for them and even less now.” 

“Doesn’t change the fact that you were still there,” he retorted. “Doesn’t change the fact that--how long was it? I don’t even think it matters but the point is--”

“--I wasn’t there because I  _ wanted _ to be.” She cut him off harshly, her voice bouncing off the walls and cutting an icy silence in the conversation. “Look I--I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this,” she said with a sigh, squeezing her eyes shut and rubbing her temples. “But whatever. I’m not  _ here _ because I want to be either. But sometimes that’s just how shit falls and you have to deal with the consequences of the stupid shit you did years earlier no matter how dumb and impulsive it was.” She sighed once more, turning away. “I was set to join the Alliance back then, okay? Become a Marine, continue the family tradition, whatever. I was fine with that. But then… God, I don’t know,” she said with a humourless laugh. “I got into a fight. Overbearing older brother. He just--Jesus  _ Christ _ , I’d never met someone so, so controlling--so hellbent on being holier-than-thou he couldn’t even see how damaging all the shit he said and did was. So, I said fuck you to him, to the Alliance, and just… did whatever was gonna piss him off the most.” 

“You signed onto Cerberus over a spat with your brother?” He said in disbelief. “Of all the stupid--you didn’t stop and think maybe that would somehow be detrimental? In the future?”

“I didn’t know!” She shot back, on the defensive. Balling her fists in his blanket, she sat there and continued talking, unable to stop the words from spilling out. To be fair, eight years was a long time to hold it in. Once the dam was broken, the flood came down. And Artus had knocked it out with just a few words that wormed too far under her skin during one of the worst weeks of her life. 

“I didn’t know,” she repeated, softer this time, “what they were all about. Why they were so… controversial, I guess. I was eighteen, fresh-faced and just ready to see some combat. And when you’re low level, you don’t see too much, so it doesn’t seem as awful. But there was a point where I just couldn’t do it anymore.” Looking up at him, her moss-green eyes flashed with something unknown. “And they don’t exactly just grant you leave, you know. It’s insidious as hell and hard to get out of. Far as they know, I’m M.I.A. And I’d like to keep it that way.” 

In the silence that followed, she busied herself by picking at the soft skin beside her nails. The shower had loosened up dead skin and it’d be hard to leave it alone for some time after.

“Your face,” he started slowly, “Those are… Fresh. Does that have anything..?”

“I don’t want to talk about that,” she said, slumping slightly. “Not yet.”

“That’s… Yeah. Okay.” 

It was quiet once more. He had mounted an analogue clock on the wall opposite her. She heard the ticking before she saw it. It was running Palaven standard time, not the galactic standard. She wondered absently if it was just a relic from his own past, seeing as it would really hold no purpose here. 

“Why do you keep that?” She asked suddenly, shifting the conversation away from herself.

It was obvious to him too, but he followed her gaze to the spot on the wall. He shrugged lightly. “Bought it at the market a few weeks ago. It doesn’t really serve a purpose, but the rhythm… I’m used to it.” 

“I see.” She stared at it a moment longer, counting almost three steamboats between tics. “Why are you here, Artus?” She asked, sounding far-away even to her own ears. People who bought sentimental clocks that kept time with their homeworlds didn’t grow up on Omega, she realized suddenly. “I don’t even believe you’ve held a gun before--what’re you doing here? You’re not a merc. Ex-soldier. Whatever.” 

“What makes you say that?” He asked, tilting his head to the side. 

“The way you were with those Blue Suns guys, mostly. But also the way you let me bully you into using your shower,” she said, a soft sound of bemusement in her voice. It almost didn’t fit the tone of the room. “You’re big. But you’re soft. You don’t belong here. So something must’ve happened to you like it happened to me.” 

He dropped forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. His hands, three digits with razor-like claws on the end, laced themselves together between his legs. He looked like a man defeated. 

“Not quite like that.” He admitted, subvocals pitching a sad, stressed sound as he spoke. “But you’re not wrong about… me not wanting to be here.” He chose his words carefully, deliberately, as if he was trying to work out the best possible way to say something without actually saying it. “It wasn’t really my choice.” 

She said nothing, simply watched him with curious eyes. 

With a heaving sigh, and a refusal to look up at her, he said simply, “I killed someone.”

She blinked at him, raising an eyebrow. “So? You, me, and everybody else on this station. Not really exciting news.”

He shook his head. “No, you don’t  _ understand _ \--I… I murdered someone, and they knew it was me and I just… I couldn’t stay there. Not knowing what was coming next.” He chuckled darkly. “Like a coward, I know.”

Unconsciously, she scooted down the bed closer to him. Before she realized what she was doing, she reached over and patted his knee as comfortingly as she could manage. “You and me both,” she said plainly. “A deserter and a murderer, and hell, I’ve killed more than my fair share at this point too--fuck, even  _ you _ almost met your end today ‘cause of me, and I would’ve done it too,” she laughed, trying to force a lighter mood. She may have been having her own pity party for the past week, but there was something particularly upsetting about watching a being that had so much potential for power and strength fold in on himself like that. And besides, he seemed a nice enough guy, murdering aside. That was genuine regret on a face of she’d ever seen it. 

He looked at her hand quizzically, and when she realized he’d noticed, she pulled it back quickly. 

“If you had, I wouldn’t have tried stop it,” he admitted with a dull laugh. “Would’ve been no less than I deserve at this point--and cleaner too.” Carefully, he leaned back in the chair, and she heard it groan under his weight. “You know, I didn’t think I’d ever be telling anyone that. Figured I’d just take it to the grave, and the sooner that happened, the better.”

“That why you’re about to throw yourself into a job that’ll probably kill you in a year?”

“Probably,” he chuckled. “Must’ve been a subconscious thing.” 

“Can you even fire a gun?”

He tilted his head slightly forward to look at her. “More or less. I know pistols well enough. Can’t be that much harder to pick up something bigger.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Right. Come back to me with that again after you’ve picked up your first assault rifle--not even talking about some of the crazy modded ones you can buy around here, just a standard M-83. Or whatever Turians use. Then we’ll talk about how easy it is.” 

“If you’re so clever with it, why don’t you sit me down and show me how it’s done?” He said sardonically. 

“That some sort of a challenge?” She asked, a teasing lilt in her voice. “Because I can outshoot you any day of the week, Artus.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he said dryly. “Speaking of weeks, after you clear out of here, where are you headed? Big station, lots of places to duck and hide and make some credits.” 

“Oh, that,” she said. She absently reached up and ran her fingers through still-damp hair, working out a few of the remaining tangles. “I figured I’d sweet-talk you into letting me stay here, actually. Not a bad set up.”

“I only have one bed. And we aren’t sharing,” he said firmly.

“I  _ know _ that,” she said, “I can sleep on the floor. I’ve done worse. And it’ll only be for a week, at most. If the Blue Suns let someone like you in, I’m sure I can find work soon.”

“Watch it,” he warned, “You’re assuming I’m still feeling hospitable after that… airing of grievances.” 

“Hey, you know me now, I know you, we have a camaraderie here,” she said easily, tipping back to lay down on the bed. “And you did sort of confess to a major crime. So.”

He clicked his tongue distastefully, but the constant stream of subvocals almost sounded like a tired laugh. “More extortion? Really, Athena?” 

“I’m shameless.” 

“Clearly.”

He thought for a moment, considering. She had proven herself to be a pain in the ass, that was for certain. But when spilt drinks weren’t involved, they got on well enough. And it might not be the worst thing in the galaxy, to actually have someone he could speak to for a change. 

“Look, how about this,” she said, interrupting his thoughts. “I stay here, you buy me dinner--don’t give me that look, I’m starving, and I can’t eat anything you’ve got here--I pay you back for everything once I get real work. Rent, for the clothes, and the food tonight. That work for you?” She looked at him hopefully.

He sucked in a breath of air before he made a decision. Straightening up, he shifted so that he could look at her full on. He extended one hand in her direction. 

“Humans shake on things. Shake on it. We’ll have a deal,” he said after a beat.

A self-satisfied grin settled on her mouth and she reached for his hand from her position on the bed, still lying on her back. 

“Deal.” 

 


End file.
